Changes
by Snowflakes-GSR
Summary: Greg and Sara learn to cope with the events of PWF. WIP
1. 1

Author: Lithium – Infected – Shamrock (LIS)  
  
Spoilers: Another post season 3.   
  
Paring: It'll keep the Greg/Sara shippers happy.   
  
Authors Notes: Sara and Greg learn to deal with the events after the explosion.   
  
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Sara was walking through the lab; when she realised she was walking past the site of the explosion.   
  
Sara gazed at the new sheet of glass, its glossy surface masking previous events.   
  
She placed her hand on the cool surface, and felt pain through her hand.   
  
And that's when the memories came flooding back……  
  
*  
  
………It wasn't the general force; even though it was enough to knock her down. It was the, well, the shock.   
  
You don't expect something like that to happen. You expect warning.   
  
And it hit her hard. The knowledge. The new knowledge.   
  
She'd always joked about science being the safest part of her life.   
  
Well; it was safer than relationships, work, and…did she even have anything else in her life?   
  
Everything was work based.   
  
Her friends were her colleagues.   
  
Science was a love, but also an essential aspect to her job.   
  
…Then there was Greg. Seeing him lying on the door…she assumed he was dead; the force of the impact was overwhelming for her, she could only imagine what it must have been like for him; in the line of full impact.   
  
He was the last thing she saw.   
  
Before her eyes involuntarily closed.   
  
She tried to fight the force…  
  
…She didn't want to close her eyes…  
  
…She thought she was going to die too…  
  
*  
  
"Sara?"  
  
She jumped at the voice, and opened her eyes; she hasn't been aware she'd shut them.   
  
She turned, slightly disorientated toward the direction of the voice.   
  
It was Greg.   
  
His face suddenly filled with concern; as he saw her vacant expression, he moved closer, and touched her arm.   
  
"Hmm?" she said, looking up at him, not quite knowing what had just happened.   
  
"How often do you get them?" He questioned, as Sara looked round at the walls, she felt like she'd just awoke from a dream.   
  
"What?" She said, suddenly realising where she was; that she'd just 'screened out,' realising that it was affecting her more than she'd been willing to admit…  
  
"The flashbacks." He answered in monotone; staring knowledgeably at her.   
  
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Do I continue? Please review. 


	2. 2

Thanks for the reviews; they were much appreciated.   
  
…Back to exploring the Greg & Sara dynamic…  
  
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"Flashbacks?" Sara repeated, wondering if she heard him right. She looked nervously past his form; checking that there was no one in the corridor. She didn't want anyone to hear this exchange.   
  
She didn't want to hear this exchange.   
  
"I get them too," he said, trying to reassure her. She looked so nervous; like a deer caught in headlights; dazed, confused, and strangely mesmerised.   
  
Sara looked into his eyes; making sure he was being serious. He looked it. She could never be sure with Greg. He could sometimes act like an idiot, but sometimes, his words threw her into a world of confusion.   
  
He seemed like two people at times; one immensely profound, with incite into a vast amount of areas, and the other…well, the other seemed to have the intellectual capacity of a child.   
  
It was hard to know which part of the persona you were dealing with; and you had to adjust yourself accordingly.   
  
She tried to compose the statement in her mind, "I don't get flashbacks…I was just…remembering." She said finally.   
  
It was true; she was remembering, just recalling images stored in the long-term memory, playing them out how they happened…how they could have happened.   
  
They weren't flashbacks.   
  
Greg regarded her. She had stammered. Sara hardly ever did that; unless she was lying. Lying or incredibly nervous. Or both.   
  
"Next you'll tell me you don't wake up in a cold sweat wondering if you really did die." He snapped, before even considering the implications of his words.   
  
She gave him a cold stare.   
  
How did he know?   
  
She hasn't told anyone about the dreams…  
  
…The nightmares.  
  
Yet he knew.   
  
She mentally tried to picture if she'd slept in the lab recently; maybe she'd called something out…maybe he heard her, and assumed…but she couldn't even remember the last time she'd slept in her own bed…   
  
….Or anyone else's….  
  
…. She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually 'slept.'  
  
He was staring back at her, knowledgably, and she resented this; she hated the thought that anyone had an incite into her personal life.   
  
"The explosion wasn't that bad Greg," she lied, hoping that it would make him leave; or at least drop the subject matter.   
  
"If it wasn't, why were you standing there for 5 minutes with your eyes closed," he rebuked seriously, a tone of annoyance in his voice.   
  
"I..I was just remembering." She uttered. It was true…she was just remembering…5 minutes? Had she really been standing there for that long? It didn't seem it.   
  
He knew she was denying it, but decided against pushing his luck. If she wasn't ready to admit how much the explosion had affect her, that was fine by him. He was coping by himself. It wasn't like he needed anyone to talk to…. did he?   
  
"Sure Sara." He said coolly, "but if you ever want to talk, I'm around," he continued softly, then started walking away from her.  
  
"I'm always around," He shouted, just loud enough for her to hear, before he disappeared from sight.   
  
She watched him leave; and her stomach filled with knots of uncertainty. And questions.   
  
How did he know? Did he get them too?  
  
She hated the thought that something beyond her control was affecting her.   
  
She shook her head, and tried to place the conversation into the back of her mind. She'd deal with it later.   
  
*Work comes first…it always does.*   
  
*  
  
He remembered his first flashback, it was just after Catherine had left his room at the hospital, she described everything with such detail…and it had left multiple images.   
  
Those images needed somewhere to go…so they turned into a flashback. It was nothing to be ashamed of.   
  
They didn't bother him as much as the nightmares.   
  
He'd been experiencing some insomnia. He usually tried to compensate with coffee; after all he needed something trying to keep him in the wakening world.   
  
He usually ended up trying to sleep in front the TV when he got home; he had a sketchy recall of most of the infomercials shown on various networks. They seemed to blend together, and if he did nap, he ended up dreaming of products or life insurance.   
  
Anything was better than waking up with memories of the explosion.  
  
But they seemed stronger than any memories. They always seemed so real.   
  
And they always started the same way as the explosion.   
  
But ended so differently.   
  
In his dreams; people died.   
  
And when he went into the lab the next day, he would make sure that everyone was still there, still alive…make sure he was just dreaming.   
  
He shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts.   
  
*…. After all, work comes first…*  
  
He ran his hand along his neck, feeling the smooth scar tissue that had formed. He ran his nails lightly along it.   
  
He could hardly feel it.   
  
It was numb.   
  
He only wished that the memories were numb too.   
  
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As regards my WIP's as far as I know I only have 3: 'Breathless' – which seems fine without another chapter, 'The Human Condition' – which I personally don't think is that great since I wrote it when I was ill, and 'The CD' – which also seems like it's finished.   
  
Please review! It takes less than a miniute… 


	3. 3

Thanks again for the reviews.   
  
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Later that Evening…  
  
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Grissom, Cath and Warrick were sitting in the meeting room, with various shots of the crime scene. There had been silence for sometime, everyone hated to admit it, but the didn't really have any evidence.   
  
"Well, I better go see if Greg's done with the DNA analysis." Cath said, getting up from a chair.   
  
"Has anyone told him?" Warrick said uncomfortably, his gaze shifted to Grissom. They did follow his lead after all.   
  
"Grissom?" Cath questioned, knowing full well that he hadn't told Greg.   
  
"No." He answered simply; he didn't want to discuss this.   
  
"Why not? Someone should have told him." Cath said forcefully, hoping to agitate Grissom enough to get him to tell Greg.   
  
"You're welcome to Catherine." He responded, not looking at her; his attention had suddenly become focused on a particular crime scene photo.   
  
"Fine," She said bitterly. She was begging to feel used; Grissom seemed to make her deal with the personal feelings of the team; and that definitely wasn't in her job description.   
  
It seemed that if it wasn't to do with a case; she had to do it, whether it be other CSI's or the press.   
  
She walked round to the DNA lab. She felt a need to keep everyone in the loop; she didn't know why. Greg had a right to know. They were friends.   
  
She saw him in the lab, sitting quietly. He already looked ready to leave; he had his coat on. He was working overtime; Grissom hadn't asked him too, but the case they were working on was solely relying on the results of this test.   
  
He was dedicated to his job; just as much as the rest of the team.   
  
"Greg…" she said quietly.   
  
"One sec" he said tearing out a print off, his eyes quickly scanned the paper.   
  
"Sorry" he said, not taking his eyes of the paper, "no match."  
  
Cath sighed, "Thanks Greg." There was a sadness in her voice, which caused Greg to look up.   
  
"What's wrong Cath?" He said, slightly tilting his head to the side, and searching her face.   
  
"It's not much Greg…" She began, slightly wincing at his cold stare.   
  
"Sara…well…"She began, but was cut off.   
  
"Well what?" Greg exclaimed, moving closer to Cath. His hand tensed up, and began crumpling the print-off held in his hand, "is she ok?" he said, his voice fearful.   
  
"Don't worry Greg, she's fine." Cath said, trying to reassure him.   
  
"She and Grissom were at a crime scene, just a burglary, and she, well, she freaked out. She just started crying and saying 'she couldn't do it anymore' – So Grissom took her home." She said, not trying to sound over-dramatic. Even she wasn't to sure about what had happened – Grissom had been so sketchy with the details.   
  
"I see…" Greg said distantly, his mind wandered back to the conversation he and Sara had shared earlier. He hoped she wasn't upset about something he said.   
  
"She's probably just stressed, you know? This job takes a lot out of you." Cath said, trying to justify to both him and herself, that Sara was ok.   
  
"I know it does." Greg said coldly. Someone always managed to imply that he did less work than the CSI's; whether they meant to or not.   
  
"Yeah, well, I just thought I'd let you know." She said, turning away; not knowing why Greg seemed so angry.   
  
"Yeah."  
  
'Yeah, tell me hours after it happened.' Greg thought to himself. His mind returned back to Sara, the way she looked earlier. HE should have told her to go home. She didn't seem right then.   
  
"I'll go see her, he said, moving past Cath, "the only reason I'm still here was because I was waiting for your DNA results," he sighed.   
  
"No, Greg, Grissom told us that we weren't to see her, that'd he deal with it." Cath insisted, not wanting Greg to get in trouble with Grissom.   
  
"Yes, Grissom told you guys, not me…" he started, as he further analysed Cath's statement, "him? Dealing with it? He'll probably just tell her to take some time of and hope it resolves itself." He said brutally.   
  
"He took her home, she seemed ok." Cath said, emphasising each statement in Grissom's defence.   
  
Ok, so sometimes the man was an ass, but he usually did the best thing when it came to Sara. Well, occasionally he needed a prod in the right direction.   
  
"What I do on my own time, is my own business," he looked at his watch, "and it's been my time for over an hour…" he continued, his voice was slightly raised now.   
  
"I'm just telling you the facts." Cath said, she was convinced that Greg was overacting.   
  
"I know. Night." He said quickly, before disappearing out the door.   
  
"Night," she said quietly to herself. She had no idea what just had happened.   
  
But she was pretty sure that Grissom would probably be yelling to her about it later.   
  
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Please Review. 


	4. 4

I've kind of neglected this fic, since I've been working on "The CD" and other one-shot fics.   
  
Thanks for being patient.   
  
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Greg looked down to his hands. They were beginning to shake.  
  
"Not now," he murmured angrily, and tightened his grip on the wheel.   
  
He gritted, and resisted the urge to shut his eyes. He couldn't stop thinking about her. He remembered how he felt after having a bad flash back; a sickness spread from your stomach up to your chest, you felt like you couldn't breathe.   
  
Then came the calm. The bitter resentment about what had happened; the fear that it could happen again.   
  
And the loneliness. Not the fact that you were physically alone, but that no-one understood. You can't tell someone you've had one, you can describe them or how they make you feel. Because the other person will think you're crazy.   
  
He'd been told to go to counselling. But what was the point in that? When people try to 'help' they generally do it not out of genuine concern, but because they're paid to. They don't want to listen – they just want you to take pills. They don't see sometimes you need to hurt.   
  
He looked up toward the lights, which constantly seemed to flick to red on his approach. And it was begging to infuriate him; it was dawn, there were hardly any cars about, and when he did come to lights, no cars crossed in the opposing direction.   
  
He looked down to his foot on the accelerator pedal.   
  
Dare he?  
  
He could feel the adrenaline in his body, the familiar metallic taste in his mouth. His thoughts went back to Sara.   
  
It took a lot to shake her. It must have been bad.   
  
He remembered his third flashback; he could taste the acrid smoke in his mouth, the pain felt fresh again…it felt more than real.   
  
And that's when the thoughts came. The thoughts of harming yourself; anything to take away the memories, to bring yourself back into reality…  
  
He floored it. He'd deal with the consequences later.   
  
He knew she should have taken some time off; especially after he heard about her response to a case, going into a flat, which hadn't been cleared.   
  
The more he heard about her incidents; the more he was worried that she was deliberately going out of her way to hurt herself; or get herself hurt.   
  
But even if she was ok, if she was just struggling, there was no way should be left by herself.   
  
His mind wandered back to Catherine's words, about what Sara had said, "she couldn't do it anymore" – what had Sara meant by that?  
  
She couldn't do the job? Her life?   
  
The dawn light was now casting eerie shadows, which were beginning to unnerve Greg.  
  
"She's ok," he whispered to himself. He tried to believe the words he spoke.   
  
"You're overacting…she's stronger than you…she'd never try to hurt herself."   
  
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Short chapter; I know. More should be up soon. 


	5. 5

A/N: I've had a couple of emails asking about the newest chapter of 'The CD' [chapter 8] - saying they get the 'chapter does not exist' message - if you are having any problems accessing it, contact me at lithium_shamrock@hotmail.com - and I'll email a copy : )  
  
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The sunlight was more apparent when Greg exited his car. It gave him a more reassuring perspective on things; driving at dawn usually took his imagination into overdrive.   
  
He hoped all his fears were imaginary. But nothing could drive them out his mind; he needed proof she was ok.   
  
That she was still breathing, both physically and emotionally. He wondered what had made her snap at the crime scene; the explosion; or just life in general.   
  
He dug his fingernails into his fist to prevent berating himself; whatever she had done, it wasn't his fault.   
  
…But he knew it would feel that way. Since the explosion he felt like he had a closer bond to Sara, just because of that one experience they had shared.   
  
He was beginning to realise how foolish he was for running all those lights.   
  
'You can't help her if you get a ticket…or worse.'  
  
He parked his car near to her apartment block, and ran all the way to it.   
  
He was surprised how much fear he held for her.   
  
He knew why. He was projecting /his/ emotions that /he/ had from the explosion onto her. He had felt so lost and alone…so empty…  
  
…He couldn't stand even the suggestion that she was experiencing the same thing…  
  
…But he feared it.   
  
He'd been here before; at her door. When her car was being fixed. He'd given most of the CSI's and lab techs rides to work at some point or another. That's what friends do for each other…they also check on each other.   
  
Greg silently cursed Grissom for leaving her here; he didn't really care if she was in there having the time of her life, or…or something worse. You don't just leave people when they're struggling. Anyone could see Sara was.   
  
Everyone commented on it; how attached she got to cases – they always pointed it out to her – no one ever tried helping her.   
  
The door to her apartment was open; not ajar, just open. He only tried the handle after several minutes of no response to knocking.   
  
He quietly shut the door behind him; she could be sleeping, not locking the door might be an oversight.   
  
Then he saw her. And something inside snapped. His eyes started to burn with tears; and he started to wish that he'd run more lights.   
  
Sara was just lying on her couch, in the foetal position; she was clearly visible, but since the blinds were closed it was still quite dark.   
  
Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing heavily; she looked like she was hyperventilating.   
  
But Greg only noticed these details subsequent to seeing what she was holding in her hands.   
  
Even though it was hard to see in the dark, it was still transparently clear what she was holding. Her pale hands were wrapped around it; bringing its form into view.   
  
She was holding her gun.   
  
Her eyes suddenly opened, and her head turned toward him. Greg could only assume she'd heard the door, other than that he'd been quiet.   
  
He wondered what she'd say, would she say anything?  
  
Her eyes were empty; but her face turned from expressionless to angry. She shifted herself into a sitting position, and her hands gripped the gun.   
  
Trying to catch her breath, she looked away from him; not through shame or embarrassment, but more of anger. She was angry he was there.   
  
Then she spoke; and her words instilled Greg with a sickening fear.   
  
"Whatever you have to say, it's too late. I have to do this" 


	6. 6

Thanks for the reviews; they make my day :)  
  
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There was a poignant silence as Greg looked at Sara with pity; Sara, in turn, regarded him with disgust.   
  
She didn't want his pity – she wanted his /absence/ - she couldn't do anything if he was there. She expected him to lecture her, tell her how important life was.   
  
But he just stood there, his eyes now fixated on the gun.   
  
"God this happens every time," she drawled.   
  
Greg looked up from the gun, and into her eyes, he was confused. Sure, he knew that she'd be angry and upset – but not like this. She sounded like she not only wanted to hurt herself, but anyone around her.   
  
Her voice broke into his thoughts.   
  
"Every time I need someone, no ones there. Now I want some peace, look who turns up," she said bitterly, throwing up her arms for emphasis.   
  
Greg remained quiet; he had so many things to say to her, but now he was unsure if any would make a difference.   
  
Yes she /was/ at the edge – could he change that? Or could he only exacerbate the situation?   
  
Maybe whatever he had to say was too late.   
  
She was getting annoyed. If he said nothing, she couldn't contest it; and his worried look was beginning to make her feel uneasy.   
  
"Just listen to what I have to say," he finally blurted, not able to stand the silence anymore.   
  
Sara saw her chance and jumped on his statement.   
  
"I've already told you, whatever you have to say, it won't make a difference," she said coldly.   
  
"It'll make a difference to me Sara," he pleaded, then he moved towards her, "if you just go ahead and do…. that…." he paused for a moment and looked at the gun, before continuing, "without listening to what I have to say, ill never forgive myself."   
  
It was the truth.   
  
She gulped, tears started to appear in the corners of her eyes; and her stiff form began to collapse.   
  
And her knuckles were no-longer white; her grip on the gun had loosened.   
  
"I don't understand what's happening to me…I keep seeing it…the explosion; I don't want to keep living through it." She said, looking up to Greg.   
  
"It's ok," he said softly.   
  
"No, it's not! I can't keep all this pain inside." She yelled with infuriation.   
  
"You don't have too."  
  
She sighed, and started looked down to her feet. She cursed her indecision. She was trapped between wanting him to give her hope, and wanting him to say the wrong thing, so she could tell him to leave.   
  
"But it shouldn't matter; I mean, it was just an explosion, I hardly got hurt," she said scalding herself.   
  
"You can't afford to think like that Sara. "He said, his voice serious, and his faced very concerned.   
  
He looked at her and saw the confusion on her face; but she also remained quite, which showed that she was willing to listen. That was a good sign.   
  
He decided to elaborate on his statement.   
  
"When I was 19, my girlfriend broke up with me. I was…heartbroken; she was the first girl I ever really loved." He said, trying to smile through the painful memory.   
  
"And, I really scalded myself for dwelling on it, you know? The usual stuff; she's just a girl, you'll get over it, its not a big deal. Then I began thinking, if that shouldn't matter to me, a lot of other things shouldn't; the clothes I wear, the grades I get, my life…  
  
…But the truth is, you can't really control how something makes you feel; and you have every right to be effected by something…  
  
…Because if you decide nothing is worth having emotions about, you start living dangerously sidle. It's not a safe place to be in." he finished.   
  
Sara looked stunned. She had always seen Greg's character as two dimensional, only now was she suing him in his true colours.   
  
"If we can't care about our own lives what have we got left to care for?" he said with a light smile.   
  
She sighed, and looked down to her gun.   
  
"I don't think I need this anymore," she said, putting the safety back on, emptying the bullets, and placing the gun on the floor. She placed the rest of the bullets on the floor too, all but one, which she slid into her pocket.   
  
"You never needed it Sara."   
  
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Please review.   
  
Hopefully there will be another update in a few days time. 


	7. 7

Thanks for the reviews, you guys rock!  
  
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Now Sara was safely disarmed, he gingerly moved to sit down beside her. He was glad that she seemed more 'stable' – but she still seemed a bit to dazed for his liking.   
  
She turned to him, and sighed heavily with frustration.   
  
She hated him seeing her like this; she'd hate anyone seeing her like this. It made her feel vulnerable – and she always felt awkward when people tried to comfort her.   
  
"I...I just feel like cant do this life sometimes Greg, its too much for one person," she whispered, her voice a crescendo.   
  
"You're not alone." He whispered, trying to comfort her without saying to much. He'd prefer for her to talk right now; the more she talked, the more he could assess her mental state.   
  
"Yes I am!" she yelled, her voice trembling under the sheer passion she was putting into each statement, "Whoever I put faith in, they leave me. Whatever I think is stable in this life isn't!" she said, and put her head in her hands, as her breathing rate increased.   
  
"Sara, don't your friends count for anything," he question, a little resentment in his voice.   
  
She slowly took her head out of her hands, and looked at him, she was slightly shocked at how serious his voice was. She'd never seen him look that way before.   
  
And she was glad. She was glad someone was actually /talking/ to her, and actually /listening/ to what she said. He was an intellectual breathe of fresh air – he had real insight into things.   
  
"If you…leave, I'll miss you." He said carefully, not wanting to overwhelm her.   
  
She smiled lightly, "that's good to know."  
  
He sighed, and tried to clarify his statement; he needed to make an impact on her, he needed her to see how much she meant to people around her – which was going to be hard to show with such a short space of time, and mere words, but it had to be done.   
  
  
  
"A lot of people will miss you, it's just hard for people to find a way to express it. You never know what you have until its gone, right? I promise you that if you left Sara, in anyway, shape of form, we'd /all/ would miss you.   
  
She hung on his every word, trying to breathe it all in. It was comforting to know he cared enough about her to stay, to talk to her.   
  
It would have been easy to call the hospital – or someone from the lab – and get someone else to deal with it.   
  
"I'd miss me too," she said, trying to convince him that she was ok.   
  
Greg frowned slightly at this statement – it didn't sound like she meant it.   
  
"Sara, you need to sort this out. Whatever's bad in your life can usually be fixed; you just need the guts to do something about it." he said, trying to reiterate his early words.   
  
"What do you mean?" she asked, slightly perplexed.   
  
Greg found it hard not to blurt out how angry he was that Grissom left her – but he knew he couldn't do it, it would be wrong – however he also knew he could phrase it in a slightly different way.   
  
After carefully deliberating on how to phrase his question, he spoke;   
  
"If someone stayed with you today, after what happened at the crime scene would you have been holding that gun?" he said, slight anger edging his voice.   
  
She opened her mouth, completely ready to answer 'yes' or even 'probably'- then she stopped. If someone had actually sat her down and had talked to her – she would have listened. She just needed someone to talk to – that was all.   
  
She had a sudden sickening pain in her stomach; what would have happened if Greg didn't arrive when he did?   
  
"No, I probably wouldn't have." She said, looking away, a slight bitterness in her tone.   
  
"Being strong includes knowing your weaknesses, knowing when you need help. You need to ask more from those around you…."   
  
Half way through his statement, Sara clicked onto what he was saying, and interjected, "I understand."   
  
"That's good." Greg quickly replied.   
  
"Just think about what I've said, Just because you're not at the edge any longer doesn't mean you wont be again, think about where you are and where you want to be."  
  
"Thanks Greg; believe me when I say I'm gonna try and sort this all out."   
  
She looked at his, his warm smile. It must have been hell for him, seeing her like that…. Then she stopped; and realised something. She always over-thought situations always thought about how she was taking advantage of people…   
  
"Sorry about all this," she said shaking her head in self-disapproval, "what am I thinking? You've just worked a double shift? You should go." She said, desperate to have some time alone.   
  
Greg sighed, he didn't want to leave her like this, and neither did he want to impose on her.  
  
"Are you sure about that?" He said, looking unconvinced.   
  
"I never asked Grissom to leave, but he did. I need you to leave; I need to think over everything."   
  
"I understand," Greg said, getting up and facing her.   
  
"Thanks so much Greg, for everything," she said, trying not to get to emotional.   
  
He bent down, and picked up her gun, and accompanying bullets   
  
"You don't mind do you?" he said, it was more a statement than a question; he would take it even if she did say no – and if she did say 'no' – he would definitely stay.   
  
"I'm a CSI, I there are many more ways to kill yourself, minus a gun."   
  
Greg furrowed his brows, and his eyes darkened.   
  
"Sorry, wasn't thinking," she mock-apologised, then gave him a beaming grin.  
  
And it was when he saw that expression he knew she was ok to leave for the night, he smiled at her, and walked to the door, feeling satisfied he didn't need to look back.   
  
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Please review; next chapter should be up soon. 


	8. 8

Greg sighed as he looked in the mirror. He allowed his eyes to wander down his body. He swallowed hard, and blinked, opening his eyes to see scars.   
  
Scars, which weren't caused by the explosion.   
  
These scars were caused by a confused person. A person who sat alone in the dark with a razor blade trying to work out where he belonged in this crazy world.   
  
Greg sighed then bit his lip as he ran his hand across the scars. He winced slightly, they were still sore, and they probably didn't count as scars, more partially healed wounds. They weren't deep – he was thankful for that. If they'd have been deep, events would have taken a direction that he couldn't control.   
  
He doubted that he could have coped with having to go to the hospital – he wouldn't have been able to tell the truth – or think up a believable lie. And the repercussions – counselling, time of work… it probably would have caused more harm than good.   
  
He'd love to say he didn't know what he was thinking when he did it.   
  
But he did. He knew exactly what he was thinking.   
  
You work in a lab. You're a CSI. You've dealt with explosions; usually your there trying to work out how someone dermis got melted onto a particular piece of shrapnel.   
  
People aren't meant to survive explosions. They're meant to burn up in the heat, and be blown to bits. They're meant to be scattered amongst the wreckage.   
  
They're meant to be evidence.   
  
He never expected to wake up. There was so much pain, the smoke, and the confusion…   
  
…But he knew something bad had happened. And he know that if he let his eyes close that would be it.   
  
He never expected to live through it. That's why he let himself be dragged into unconsciousness.  
  
But he did wake up.   
  
And then he felt like he didn't belong to the world any longer.   
  
He had to do something to make himself part of the world again…   
  
He closed his eyes and tried his best to remember that night.   
  
….  
  
He had drunk nearly half a bottle of Vodka, before it went blank. He remembered getting the razor, having the intent to use it – but that's when the vodka kicked in….  
  
…When he woke up, his sheets were covered in blood; and he honestly thought he'd killed someone.   
  
That fear brought him back into realising he was alive – only the living can inflict pain on others.   
  
Then he found the marks on his own body and had thrown up. He was ashamed that hurt himself.   
  
He was afraid of how far gone he'd been.   
  
It was all that fear, fear of what he was capable of if he didn't sort out his emotions, and accepted the way he felt about his life. That's what drove him to consider his life; it's value, and what he wanted to do with it.  
  
….  
  
He shook the memory of that day away; and he opened his eyes.  
  
Seeing his form again in the mirror he turned slightly, to see his side; he could see a yellow bruise, he knew it extended around his back. It was a reminder of how strong the force of the blast was.   
  
But it didn't really hurt; the medication he'd been given had sorted that out.   
  
He was now content that the physical pain was under control, and the emotional pain was now scar tissue.   
  
But he was glad it happened.   
  
It made him see that he was alive; he was meant to be there, he wasn't meant to die.   
  
Because if he'd died…who would have been their for Sara?  
  
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Thanks for the reviews; the mean a lot to me.   
  
As for the quality of spelling [or lack of] I will either be checking through and reloading previous chapters, or taking the kind offer from a reviewer and getting a beta.   
  
Next chapter will be up sometime soon. 


	9. 9

Sorry for the lack of updates; I've been really tired and have had time to write. But all my WIP's do have endings, and they will all end at some point. I wont just leave them.   
  
Thanks for leaving such great reviews too :D  
  
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She turned over for the fifth time, shifting her weight, trying not to lie on her bruises, stifling a gasp when she did.   
  
She just couldn't sleep; lying there beneath the covers, hoping this would all disappear.   
  
But, she didn't want herself to disappear, just the situation around her.   
  
She was ashamed, ashamed Greg had seen her like that, so exposed…so raw.   
  
She had always relied on the fact if she kept a façade over the way she felt people couldn't judge her.   
  
After all, if you never show who you really are, even if people dislike the person you are trying to be, they don't hate who you are.   
  
It was a safety net. You could imagine people would like you if you were yourself.   
  
But you cant live behind a façade for the rest of your life…can you?  
  
She couldn't believe he had seen through it all; this mask she wore. She wondered if he'd always seen who she was, or if something had just alerted him to it.   
  
She knew who she was. She always had done, she always would do. A scared fragile woman.   
  
But everyone is scared and fragile, and she was only just beginning in to see that.   
  
Being afraid didn't make her weak.   
  
And that's what she was afraid of, she was always driving so hard to show that she wasn't a weak female; she ended up denying her own feelings.   
  
Greg had been so supportive; it was still daunting to have let him see her like that.   
  
It was like he had a part of her, and he could do whatever he wanted with it. It no longer belongs to her – Like a secret – as soon as someone knows about it, it can spread; you have no control on the path it takes. It can become public knowledge.   
  
But she didn't want anything like that to happen; she knew she'd been down a dead end; she wanted to sort it out herself.   
  
The last thing she wanted was people to know what had happened. That way, they'd change their attitude toward her; then she couldn't re-adjust herself – you can't re-adjust yourself when people are changing the way you react to you.   
  
She needed stability – she needed things to stay the same so she could work out where she belonged in it all.   
  
But there was a huge weight lifted; she didn't feel so depressed or alone anymore. Someone knew, someone had validated her feelings, told her it was ok to 'feel.'  
  
But she knew there was still work to do. She knew if she went back into work tomorrow that something like this would happen again, and again…  
  
Something had to change.   
  
She wasn't giving into her weak side, just allowing it to show, being aware of it, letting it affect her a little.   
  
She couldn't let it build up like this.   
  
It would be better to be weak some of the time, than go over the edge ever few years.   
  
How did he know? How did he know she felt like this?   
  
…./ He went through it too, you aren't the only one who was in the explosion…./  
  
She started considering the variables that constituted as 'her life.'   
  
She was in her thirties. She wasn't in a relationship – a gauge she never liked to be measured on, but it was true. There was no one 'special' in her life.   
  
She worked at a crime lab – and worked hard at it. She lived in an apartment – not grand by any means.   
  
And it wasn't homely; not really. She knew she could abandon it at any time. No memories revolved around it.   
  
But there was still something lacking. Not just relationships, but a sense of security. Tonight, she had no one to fall back on. Her life was empty – no valued people or possessions, no good memories.   
  
Greg was there, but that was down to chance.   
  
She couldn't even think of someone she could call tonight if she needed to – no shoulder to cry on, no one to listen.   
  
She had always wanted to be self-sufficient. But sometimes, you can be self-sufficient with friends, relations, and roots…  
  
She knew she could get up right now, leave, and go anywhere. There was no worry in her mind that someone would be sad that she was gone.   
  
'Sad' - not in the way that she was gone and that they felt the absence, but in the way a strong connection had been broken.   
  
She knew her life needed a new direction; but that didn't necessarily mean leaving.   
  
Life is malleable to a certain extent; all you need to do is take control….  
  
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Please review. 


	10. 10

Wow, you're giving me some great reviews, they're really making me think about my writing style.   
  
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She loved that moment. That single moment when she awoke, not knowing about the world around her, how full of pain it is. Life a blank canvas, the bliss of and hop of just being alive. Being warm, being safe.   
  
Her mind was silent; not tainted by the past, not worried about the future; all she could feel were the positive array of emotions.   
  
But the problem was it was only a moment. A single moment, which is only tangible for a few seconds. Then it fades away as the realisation of life filters in. Like watching the sunset of some distant isle; it only takes a few seconds. You know another sunset will happen, but its beauty may never compare to what you are experiencing.   
  
And it's the actually act of experiencing the emotions associated with that moment which draw the realisation in, because you can't be satisfied that you are happy, your mind unconsciously seeks the problems you faced before your slept.   
  
Maybe humanities doomed itself she thought, curling into a ball. We can't even be satisfied with the happy moments it gives us.   
  
But she was determined she would break the mould.   
  
She remained in bed, her mind trying to grasp at the shreds of that moment, trying to claw back the ignorance. But it was already too late.   
  
She looked at her clock, and cursed silently that she work stated soon. She had been so positive last night about today, but now it was here, it was like being part of the horizon, nothing to look forward to, nothing to help guide you.   
  
Somewhere in the back of her mind was the belief that if she left the bed everything would change, not necessarily for the worse, but change.   
  
She had always tried to keep some type of order in her life – because even if things are bad, if they're the same, you create coping techniques.   
  
Changes incur new challenges and problems, possibly one you aren't ready for.   
  
She sighed as she tried to separate herself from the bedclothes. It was going to be a long day, whether she got up now, up waited for an hour.   
  
She was afraid, daunted by her task.   
  
It is, after all, one thing to devise a plan to change your life, but a completely new challenge to implement it.   
  
And she knew change had to start today. She could put it off, and end up where she was last night. She couldn't be there again.   
  
She hated feeling like this. Being on this emotional roller coaster, being happy that she could change her life, then condemning the plight of humanity.   
  
She padded through to the hall, she felt lost, aimless. She had already organised some of the issues she needed to tackle today, she'd examined her feelings. But the simple task of getting ready for work seemed so foreign.   
  
Then she saw something, which felt, out of place.   
  
Next to her phone, she saw a scrap of paper.   
  
She carefully picked it up by its edge, years of being a CSI teaching her to always be careful about moving evidence, not to contaminate it. Looking for what seemed out of place.   
  
She closed her eyes suddenly, trying to silence the thought that maybe her work was now her life. They weren't separate anymore; she'd always be a CSI even if she stopped actually working as one.   
  
She opened her eyes and stared at the paper, a number was scrawled along with a name.   
  
'If you need me, call me. Greg.'  
  
She smiled at this simple thoughtful gesture. She rubbed her finders across the piece of paper, feeling the writing indents, feeling the coarseness of the paper used.   
  
Then she folded her hand around it, crumpling it, holding it tightly.   
  
"I'd love to call you Greg," she said in a near whisper, "but I /have/ to do this by myself." 


	11. 11

_AN1: First off, a Huge thank you to _**_Sabriel _**_who not only beta'd this chapter with great speed, did a really excellent job. Thanks so much! _

_AN2: Sorry the chapter took so long!_

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The cool evening air made Sara shiver slightly, as she got into her Tahoe. She felt ambivalent about going back to work – a mixture of fear and determination. 

She regarded the Las Vegas landscape differently to the way she normally did. In fact, she viewed the whole trip as a parallel - she was not only travelling to work, but travelling toward her _new _life. Work was her life. That's where the changes would be. Where they had to be. 

And it wasn't going to be easy. She couldn't just project her idealism onto the people around her and expect them to change immediately, if at all. All she could do was change herself, adapt, and make her life a place she wanted to be.  

And this wasn't like a diet, or quitting smoking. She couldn't sinfully slip back into her former routine. Because going back to the way things were would be more lethal than starting smoking again.

_She knew that._

It hurt, the blistering, painful secret, knowing what she could have done to herself, but now she knew things couldn't be the same again. 

And Greg…. Greg would be the catalyst for that…. He would be the catalyst for her change. 

Because it seemed that he was the only person who truly knew when she was falling apart…. And she didn't want him to see her like that again. 

But she had to make sure of one thing.

That she was doing this for herself, and no one else. 

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *  

"Glad to see you back, Sara," Warrick called at her approach before he ducked into a side room. 

For some reason, sickening resentment formed in her stomach. The fact that he had barely acknowledged her existence before exiting the situation seemed a little cold. 

_He doesn't know what you've been through. He can't sympathise if he doesn't know. You don't know what Grissom told them. He could have just said you were ill and went home. He could have given them the gory details. _

_Maybe he didn't want you to feel uncomfortable or pressured._

She sighed and stopped walking. She was afraid again. Afraid of what she was doing, afraid that her new approach would wreck everything, and distance herself further from those around her. 

People don't like confrontation. And that's what you're going to be doing. Confronting them. 

Why am I doing this to myself? Why don't I just save myself the trouble and leave things to the way they were….

She sighed and leaned against the nearest wall. As she did so, her eyes fluttered closed – she was more tired than she had thought. 

"You better not let Grissom see you like that - he might send you home."

Sara smiled slightly at his voice before she opened her eyes to look up at him. 

"Good to see you too," she said, with a cheerful tone that even sounded forced to her ears. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked, edging closer to her. As he did so, his eyes carefully examined her as though looking for injury. 

"I'm okay," she said awkwardly, trying to phrase her next question. She paused and looked away from him. "You haven't said anything about the other night, have you?" 

"Does it matter?" Greg responded quickly, not deliberately trying to antagonise her but trying to probe the way she was feeling about the recent events. 

"Not really, I just don't think…I just don't want it spread about." She said, her voice wavering slightly. 

"You think I'd do that?" Greg asked with a small grin. He knew he wasn't making things easy for her. 

"No, but I had to say it." She finished with conviction.   

 There was silence between them for a few seconds, but it was broken by the sound of footsteps. Both turned to see Grissom going into his office and shutting the door behind him. 

"Greg, can we, erm, talk later? I have something I need to do." As she asked, her eyes were transfixed on Grissom's office door. 

"Sure." Greg said, following her line of sight. He smiled to himself before heading off toward the lab. 

She was keeping to her promise and facing her demons. 

After Greg left she began walking down the corridor. 

She had the weird feeling that Grissom was the beginning of all of this – well, the beginning of the pain. He was always the one who made her feel the highest highs, and the lowest lows. He was the one who started this downward spiral. 

Their bond did not seem to translate well into a named division – they were neither friends nor colleagues… 

One thing was for sure, she knew they shared an indefinable, unquestioned bond. 

But she needed answers. 

She needed to know why he left her that night. 


	12. 12

Do you want to know who's great? Sabriel. Not only does she do a fantastic job as a beta, but she can put up with me going AWOL for months. Without her encouragement, updates for this would probably be even slower than they are.

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"Grissom," she murmured, suddenly feeling as if her strength had left her. It was one thing to propose great change, she realized, but another to actually confront it and carry it out.

He looked up from a book he was paging through, but didn't say anything.

She hated that - the way he acknowledged her presence without any commitment. If it were anyone else, she would have received some kind of welcome.

But not him.

What made him special? Why could he get away with being so antisocial?

_Because he's your boss. You hate to admit it, but you admire him, the way he can rise above everything. _

"Do you want anything?" His voice broke into her thoughts, and she shook her head, trying to untangle her disorganised reflections.

"Yeah…" she responded, grasping for words.

His eyes tore into her own.

She broke the contact by turning and closing the door behind her. Then, without looking him in the eye, Sara moved to sit across from him.

She brought herself to look at him.

And she felt it again.

The almost-tangible electricity. She felt isolated when she looked at him, as though it was just them, nothing else mattered. But she knew she couldn't get caught up in it. She could let herself feel like this when they were alone, but elsewhere…it was too dangerous. She willed herself to suppress her feelings, but they flooded through her despite her attempts. Sometimes she wondered if it was love, or confusion, or just something that couldn't be definable.

"Why did you leave me?" she asked. "I…I could have done anything."

His expression darkened a little. He rested his head in his hand and, avoiding her eyes, he stared down at his desk.

"But you didn't." Despite his confident words, the question was clear in his tone as he replied.

_…You have no idea…_

She sighed; she knew what would ensue from here. She would attempt to get him to talk to her, and he would turn questions back at her.

"Tell me why you left me…" she shouted, frustrated by his lack of response.

"You didn't need me there, you needed space… I could see that," Grissom listed defensively. He was becoming visibly agitated; his eyes were wandering around his office, looking for some means of escape.

"Oh, come on! We both know you're more perceptive than that!" Snarling, she left her chair and turned her back on him.

_Stay calm. If you push him too far, he'll just force you to leave. _

"And we both know why I couldn't stay," he rebuked, rising to his feet. He walked over to her, and waited for a response.

He was wrong. She wasn't sure. Her mind was mixed up, lost between the reality and the fantasy; she never knew if she was remembering things she'd said to him, or that she was just recalling things that she wanted to say.

"Trust me, you're gonna have to spell it out." She hoped that they were the right words. What else could she say?

"Because I don't trust myself with you," he said dejectedly. Grissom gritted his teeth and looked down to the floor. He knew he was cornered.

The look of pain on her face dissipated, and was replaced with one of relief. She looked up at him; gently, she touched his face, and brought it up to look at her own.

She was calm, her expression now forgiving. "Then why don't you do something about it?" she said, closing the inches between them, letting her hand wander to his collarbone.

He closed his eyes, and his breathing slowed. His awareness of the outside world faded. All he could feel was her…. all he could sense… was her. He could feel his body relaxing; he hadn't felt like this in a long time.

But then he felt it. The pull. The fear of what could happen if he allowed anything to happen with her. The fear that if he had her, he could never let her go.

"Because," he began, opening his eyes, "…I can't." He sighed, and, stepping back, carefully removed her hand from his body.

Her bottom lip trembled, and she felt her body begin to shake. She was on the verge of tears, but steeled herself. She was _not_ going to cry.

"Then…this is it," she said, trying to hold back the fury that tempted to erupt in place of her tears. "Stop caring about me. Stop…just…just don't feel anything for me. Know that 'this' is gone." Her anger fading into sadness with every word, she finished in little more than a whisper.

"Sara…"

"No, don't. Don't pity me." With that, she ran blindly from the room.


End file.
